


Break Me Down

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Beating, Caning, Dom/sub, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Service Submission, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire have the day off, giving them the chance to act out a long-held fantasy of Grantaire's. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Me Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azanerth (bunbunjolras)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbunjolras/gifts).



> This is 14,000 words of smut, and I am ashamed of myself.
> 
> Happy birthday, Pash! It was amazing to meet you in London last month. I hope you're having a great birthday.

They’re lying in bed, Grantaire’s head on Enjolras’ chest. Enjolras is still breathing heavily from the exertion of sex, and Grantaire’s eyes are peacefully closed as his lover cards his fingers through his sweaty curls.

“Good?” Enjolras asks.

“Mm,” Grantaire hums, closing his eyes.

“Is there anything you’d like to try tomorrow? I have the day off.”

“Hm. I’m happy. Could stay like this all day.”

“I was thinking we could stay in. Have sex. Order pizza.”

“Sounds good to me,” Grantaire agrees. “Perfect, actually.”

“Anything you’d like to try sexually that we haven’t yet?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire hesitates.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Enjolras says, noticing the way his lover tenses up. “You don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable, no pressure, but I do like to know.”

“Okay.”

“I promise not to judge you, no matter what it is. No matter if you think it’s something to be ashamed of. Even if it’s something I decide I’d rather not do.”

“You’re the greatest boyfriend ever,” Grantaire pronounces. “Do I tell you that often enough?”

“Pretty often,” Enjolras says. “Still, thank you, love.”

“I’ll tell you. But. You have to promise not to—like—if you think it’s gross, that you won’t think I’m gross? Okay?”

“Of course. I could never be disgusted by you. Or your fantasies, for that matter. I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot.” Grantaire hesitates. “That’s—that’s how come, I mean… I know you love me. I do. And… this is a fantasy I had the first day we ever met, but I never would have… okay. Let me explain.”

“Good, because I’m confused,” Enjolras admits.

“Okay. So. The first time we met, you may remember that you asked why I was at the Musain, and when I said to drink, you gave me this look… like I was dirt on your shoe or something.”

Enjolras winces. “Fuck, ‘Aire, I am sorry—“

“Let me finish, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, yeah, that sucked. But it’s not like you thought anything worse about me than I did at that point. And the way—okay, I don’t even totally know what it is, but something about that look, like you were so superior and you just… I don’t know.”

“There was something arousing about it? I know you like—I mean, obviously, submission, being—subordinate, but I didn’t ever associate it with that moment. I was so cruel to you then.”

“Well, I went home and got myself off thinking about you fucking my mouth and telling me I was worthless for anything but that, so,” Grantaire says, matter-of-factly, in the way that often belies some deep discomfort for him.

“And that’s something you’d like to try?”

“Uh. So that’s obviously the first of very many times I’ve gotten off thinking about you, and at the beginning… it was usually you hurting me, or telling me I was useless and whatever.”

“Because that’s the kind of stuff I was saying to you. Making you feel,” Enjolras says, regretfully.

“No. No, no, no, it was… it was way worse than—I mean, you would call me incompetent or useless or whatever, but this was… all the stuff I thought about myself. I would think about you saying it to me, and I guess maybe… like, it was you punishing me? For being a good-for-nothing ugly drunk, fucking me and leaving me wanting because I wasn’t worthy to lust after you. Like. Intense.”

“That is intense,” Enjolras agrees. “But it’s nothing to be ashamed of. If it was cathartic, or helpful, then I’m glad, though I still feel responsible for the terrible way I treated you.”

“Well, it’s… when we got together, I stopped having that fantasy. I mean, I still- like, I still enjoy some of the things behind it, but the idea of you using me was no longer as appealing. When I knew how wonderful it was to have you love me.”

“And I do,” Enjolras assures him quietly. “So much, darling.”

“I know. I just, um, I was thinking… like… it never stopped being a fantasy, you being really controlling and degrading me. I just realized that I didn’t actually want it, because my self-esteem couldn’t handle it, and all. But now I think… I think I could. If you don’t think it’s too weird.”

“Explain to me what you want,” Enjolras says. “I don’t understand, really, and I don’t want to misinterpret this.”

“So. I mean, we’ve done a tiny bit of dirty talk, but I was thinking… more degrading stuff. Not just like ‘slut’ and whatever but… the stuff I said before.”

“Are you sure? R, you know I don’t… I don’t think you’re worthless, I’m not only with you because of the sex. You do know that.”

“I do,” Grantaire assures him. “That’s why—why I think I can do this. And it just… it turns me on so much, thinking of you… using me. Like, that’s the fantasy, I guess. You—you tell me what to do, and I do it. And if I mess up, and I mean even at all, the tiniest little mistake, you could—you could punish me for it, and tell me— sorry, I feel like I’m topping from the bottom now.”

“You aren’t,” Enjolras says. “You’re helping me get an idea of what your fantasy is. I’ll decide what parts of it you get.”

“I like that,” Grantaire hums. “So. Yeah. You punish me and maybe like tell me I’ve d-disappointed you? Is that weird? I feel like that’s a really weird kink to have.”

“It may be unusual, but it’s not bad. I like the idea of service, if that’s what you’re getting at with the idea of me ordering you around, and I can certainly be strict with punishment. Is this something you’d like in general in our scenes, or—“

“I was thinking just occasionally. I love the way you dom me. You’re awesome at it and you’re so gentle and loving and you make me feel so good. But sometimes… I mean, I’d like to try just—are you going to give me a speech about human rights if I say I’d like to be your slave? To just be… to be an object, to please you, to be only good for that and not expected to do anything else but to be punished if I’m not perfect for you. To be just a thing, that you own, that you can use, that you can do whatever you want with, because I don’t—I don’t deserve any better. In this one, specific fantasy. Um. Yeah.” Grantaire hides his face in Enjolras’ chest. “Weird, right?”

“Not weird. And not bad. But it is something we’re going to have to talk about a lot before we do—if we do decide it’s a fantasy you’d like to enact, and not just talk about.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Like, what can I say to you?”

“Any of the things I just said, except—probably stay away from the appearance-based stuff, if… if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay. But the other things… are you really going to be all right if I say that you’re useless, R?”

Grantaire shivers. “Um. Yeah, I think… I might really like that. Oops.”

“Hey. It’s all right. It’s good,” Enjolras murmurs. “You’re good.”

Grantaire smiles and snuggles into Enjolras’ chest. “Thanks, sir.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me. You know how much your trust means to me, sweet boy.”

“You’re so good to me.”

“And you’re so good for me. So. Degradation based on… value, is what I’m hearing?”

“Yeah. And like, slut and whore and the other stuff we’ve done before, too. Uh. And maybe--“ Grantaire hesitates, looking up at Enjolras. “Okay. I love you, and I know you love me. I feel loved and supported and cared for by you. You know all that, right?”

“I do,” Enjolras says tentatively.

“Okay. I think it might be really hot if you were—to say that I’m not—that I don’t deserve to be with you. That I don’t get to touch you until I’ve earned it, that I’m not good enough to be yours, that I’m—that I’m not worthy.”

“And this isn’t—this isn’t because of your depression, love? I know in the past our scenes have helped with that, I don’t want them to do the opposite.”

“It won’t. I don’t think. And if it starts to, I promise I’ll use the safeword. Or just tell you to stop.”

“So no consent play?”

“Not with this. Or… rather I think the fantasy is… is that it doesn’t matter if I… you aren’t asking for my opinion. So. Obviously if I say no, I’m already breaking the fantasy that I’m…”

“I get it,” Enjolras says. “Am I—would it throw you out of the fantasy if I were to want to be gentle with you for a moment at some point?”

“No. Not at all. I could… if you wanted to… to make me earn that, to—yeah. Tell me I’m worthless and then show me that you don’t really think that, that could be… good. And obviously I’ll need a lot of aftercare, if we really want to do this.”

“And you want—does the fantasy involve me being rough with you, physically?”

“Yeah. It’s mostly about the emotional, the degradation, but… I mean I want you to throw me around, to put me where you want me, to hurt me if I displease you.”

“Mm,” Enjolras hums. “I like that. Well, you know how much I like hurting you.”

“You could-“

“Yes?”

“I know that, um, you like… well, I know you get off on hurting me more than… more than I get off on being hurt. You could. If you wanted. Really hurt me. Bruise me. Make me cry and, y’know, whatever.”

“Jesus, R,” Enjolras whispers. “You don’t have to— I mean, this isn’t a deal, you don’t have to trade me something to—to get your fantasy. You know I’d never want you to put yourself at stake like that.”

“I know. It’s not… I… part of it is the idea of suffering. For you. To be yours. To serve you, even… even if it’s in a way that I don’t like. I mean, I love serving you by sucking you off or getting spanked or the service stuff we’ve done, but that’s all fun. I want you to really—break me down. As much as you’re comfortable with. Use me as much as you want to. Or, um, as little. You could… you could ignore me, too, when you aren’t—when you don’t need me for something, leave me… not alone, never alone when I’m in subspace, but… kneeling in the corner, or…”

“I don’t know how comfortable I am with the idea of physically harming you for my own gratification,” Enjolras says. “I’ll have to put some thought into that. And I think we should… I should think about the rest. But this is something we can do. Just to clarify—I mean a scene, or maybe a longer period of time—“

“Yes, please, a… a whole day, of just being yours, would be…”

“Of, essentially, Master/slave play. I make rules, possibly arbitrarily, and punish you for the slightest deviation from them. I begin by degrading you, but by the end you prove to me what a good boy you are and I allow you to serve me. Then aftercare.”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says. “This is something we can do.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispers.

“I… I have a… request.”

“I’m listening.”

“Do you mind if the… if the slavery undertones are… somewhat explicit? If I asked you to call me Master, and to… if we approached the objectification from the perspective that you were my property, that would be—“

Grantaire can tell from the way Enjolras is starting to talk like he’s writing a fucking thesis or something that he’s turned on by the thought and ashamed of it. “That would be awesome. And you could make me do stuff, like, whatever. Domestic service kind of stuff, or… or licking your boots, or… because you know how devoted a slave I am, and that I’d do anything to please my Master.”

“Fuck,” Enjolras says, somewhat involuntarily. “Fuck, ‘Aire, I… Yes. You’re wonderful, you know? I was so—so ashamed of all this before I met you, and you just… you accept me so unconditionally that I am able to accept myself.”

“So you want to do that?”

“Yes. Now, what’s next to discuss?

“Uh. Limits.”

“Yes. I’m listening, love.”

“Nothing about the way I look. I know, I know, you think I look awesome, I still don’t. No—no references to anything… real. I mean, like, don’t punish me for stuff outside the scene. You can play being disappointed in me in general, or disappointed in me for not serving you right, or whatever, but not… not something you’d really get upset about. Not being a shitty friend, or drinking and saying stupid things at meetings, or any of that.”

“Of course.”

“The usual stuff—no threatening to share me, or tell other people about this, no animal play talk but pet is fine, all bathroom activities remain in the bathroom. Except. Um. You could maybe… make me ask for permission to pee. Like. If you wanted.”

“And could I make you get permission for other things? To speak, or look at me, or move?”

“I… not so much with the eye contact restrictions. But everything else, yeah.”

“Is there a reason for why not that, in particular? I’m not trying to push you on it—it’s off the table the minute you say you aren’t interested, you know that, but I just want to figure out as much as I can what you want from this scene.”

“Um. I guess I just… I figure I look at you a lot, and… um… sorry.”

“Grantaire, if we’re back at the point in our relationship that you feel you have to apologize for even being attracted to me, then we aren’t playing with this kind of humiliation anytime soon. And that is not an accusation, love. I’m—I’m sorry to say it so frankly, as though you’ve done something wrong. You haven’t, not a thing, and I want our relationship to always be a safe space for you to share your insecurities. I will still love you and support you in every way—including as your dom, if that’s what you want—if something has once again made it difficult for you to believe that I do in fact adore you.”

“No. I’m fine, really, it’s just… I’m getting a little, I mean, we’ve been talking about this and it’s making me think about doing it and—also the scene we did tonight sort of just ended, so I’m a little drifty. That’s all.”

“Okay. Why don’t you get some rest, love? We can talk more in the morning if we need to. We have all day.”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire mumbles.

“Good. I’m right here, R. And… thank you for sharing your fantasy with me. It means a lot.”

“Not too weird?”

“No,” Enjolras assures him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Enjolras watches as Grantaire falls asleep, one arm hooked around Enjolras’ waist and his head snuggled into Enjolras’ hip. Enjolras pets his hair gently, watching, until he’s fast asleep, and then pulls his laptop off the nightstand to He this. Enjolras stays up late that night, learning everything he can think of as relates to this kind of kink. He’s half-sketched out a scene in his head when he gives up and goes to sleep around three, tired to the bone. Before he falls asleep, he looks down at Grantaire, asleep with one arm thrown around Enjolras. “I love you so much,” Enjolras says, “and I swear I will take care of you.”

Grantaire, obviously, doesn’t answer. Enjolras smiles anyway, sliding down into the bed so he and Grantaire are snuggled together face to face, and promptly falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Grantaire is gone. He has a moment of panic—has Grantaire freaked out about the confessions he made last night? Is he okay?—before realizing that he hasn’t gone far.

Grantaire is kneeling next to the bed, head bowed. There’s a steaming hot cup of coffee and a muffin on the bedside table. “Good morning, Master.”

He looks up at Enjolras. There is a silence. Grantaire only very rarely initiates a scene. He told Enjolras at the beginning of their relationship that the anxiety of potential rejection is too much, and because Enjolras is demisexual he’s far more likely to not be in the mood than Grantaire is. Enjolras can see the nervousness in Grantaire’s eyes, but also the love and devotion, the knowledge that even if Enjolras can’t accept what he’s offering he will still be there to love and support him. He reaches over, gently cupping Grantaire’s cheek in his hand. “Good morning, pet.”

Grantaire smiles broadly at him.

“What’s your safeword, my love?”

“Red.”

“Use it if you need it. That’s an order. The most important order I will give you all day.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes. I- you slept in. It’s ten-thirty.”

“Good. But you’re dressed.”

“Y-yes?”

“I don’t see any reason you need to hide my property from me,” Enjolras says. “I want you naked. I want to look at what I own.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire whispers, and Enjolras smiles, reaching for his coffee as he watches Grantaire scramble to strip.

Enjolras eats his breakfast in bed, Grantaire kneeling and naked beside him. When he’s finished, he puts the plate and mug aside and reaches into the bedside drawer. “You need your collar,” he says. “Today, you’ll wear nothing but that.”

“Yes, Master.”

Enjolras wraps it around his neck and buckles it. He looks down at Grantaire for a moment, and then slaps him hard across the face. Grantaire cries out, more surprise than anything else, and Enjolras tangles his fingers in Grantaire’s hair and pulls his head back, painfully forcing him to look up at Enjolras. “Aren’t you going to thank me, whore? You think you have a right to this?”

“No, Master. Thank you.”

“Pathetic,” Enjolras sneers, and he can see the way that makes Grantaire’s whole body react, flushing with want as he looks down at the ground.

“I’m sorry, Master. I don’t—I don’t deserve your collar.”

“I’m still not impressed. I know you can do better, and I expect you to. I expect your best. Now. Tell me what a lucky little slut you are, or I’ll take that collar off you.”

“Master, I’m sorry!” Grantaire says. “I’m sorry, I am, I should have thanked you right away. I deserve to be punished for not respecting you properly. I’m so grateful that you let me wear your collar, that you let me be yours. It’s hard for me to even thank you properly for it, to even find the words to say- thank you, Master, thank you so much, being owned by you is the greatest gift I could ever be given and I don’t deserve it but thank you anyway.”

“That’s my good boy,” Enjolras says fondly. “Maybe you’ll even earn that punishment.”

“Earn?”

“You don’t think I’d go to all the trouble of beating you, when you’ll probably just enjoy it like the filthy bitch you are, unless you beg for it, did you?”

“Master,” Grantaire gasps, his mind almost going blank with how incredibly aroused he is at Enjolras’ words, at the filth dripping from his angel’s perfect lips. “Master, please beat me, please punish me, I deserve it, I do. I want you to hurt me, I want you to make me better for you, please.”

“Good. Go get the cane. The thin one.”

Grantaire starts to get to his feet, and Enjolras, who is still sitting on the bed, puts a foot on his thigh, keeping him down.

“You aren’t allowed to stand. You belong on your knees. Crawl, and bring it back in your mouth.”

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”

Grantaire crawls over to the closet where they keep the toys, which gives Enjolras a second to take a deep breath and get himself ready. Only a brief one, though. When he returns with the cane in his mouth, Enjolras is much more settled.

“Good slave. Get up on the bed.” Enjolras stands, taking the cane away from him and looking up and down his body. “Tell me what you’ve done to deserve this punishment.”

“I- I put clothes on, tried to—tried to hide your property from you. I didn’t thank you properly for your collar. And I tried to get up and walk to get the cane, instead of crawling like I’m supposed to.”

“Correct. What do all those mistakes have in common, slut?”

“I—I forgot my place, sir.”

Enjolras gently, oh so gently, draws the cane across the skin of Grantaire’s ass, tracing a long line. “And what is your place?”

“I’m—I’m nothing, Master, I’m a worthless thing for you to use as you see fit and I need to remember that I exist for your pleasure.”

“Good. For my pleasure, not your own.” Enjolras traces the cane across Grantaire again, watching him shiver. “I know how much you would enjoy being beaten here, or here-“ he taps the cane very lightly against Grantaire’s thighs- “or here-“ and then against his back- “but this isn’t for you. This is for my pleasure, and to remind you what you are. That you belong on your knees.”

Enjolras brings the cane down hard across the soles of Grantaire’s feet, and Grantaire screams. It’s so loud that Enjolras stops immediately, dropping to his knees to look at Grantaire’s face.

“All right?” he murmurs.

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you want me to stop? I need an honest answer. You’re still allowed to have limits.”

“No. It just… hurts. A lot. I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m proud of you for telling me the truth. Good pain? Bad pain?”

“I- I don’t know. I know I want it, though.”

“You’re going to have to ask for it.”

“I want you to cane the bottom of my feet until I’m forced to crawl for you, til I have to stay on my knees and remember that’s my place, beneath you, serving you,” Grantaire says.

“That’s so good. So good. You’ve earned this punishment. For each of those lapses, you’ll take five strokes, for a total of fifteen. Will you be able to bear that for me?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good boy,” Enjolras says, and lets the cane land. “That’s your second stroke. From now on, I want you to count, and repeat for me the fact that you belong on your knees.”

“Yes, Master. Three, thank you for reminding me that my place is on my knees.”

Enjolras gives him another one, neat and precise and not too hard. He’ll thrash Grantaire later, flog his back or belt his ass with all his strength, but this requires care.

“Four, Master. Thank you for keeping me on my knees where I belong.”

At the next stroke, Enjolras gives him a break. He inspects the five thin lines on Grantaire’s feet. They’ll welt, but not much, and Grantaire will be able to walk within the hour. “You’re doing very well. You’ll get the next five without a break. No need to count.”

“Yes, Master.”

Grantaire tries to hold still and take the five quietly. He lets out a gasp after each blow, but holds in place for the pain, which must be severe from the little sounds of distress he’s making.

“That was good. Now for the last. Count, and tell me one reason why you deserve to be hurt.”

Grantaire takes a deep breath. Enjolras brings the cane down hard, as hard as the first stroke was, and Grantaire whimpers, then says, “Eleven, Master. I deserve to be hurt because I’m worthless.”

“Good.” Enjolras gives him another two, vicious again, and Grantaire moans brokenly before finding the words.

“I deserve to be hurt because it pleases you to hurt me, and because nothing could be more important than pleasing you. Twelve and thirteen.”

Enjolras brings the cane down hard again, right across the center of Grantaire’s feet, and Grantaire sobs.

“I deserve to be hurt because I’m yours and you can do anything you want with me. That’s fourteen.”

The last one is the hardest, and Grantaire’s whimpering as it lands, little muffled sobs with his face in the pillow, but his voice is clear as he says, “Fifteen, Master. I deserve the pain because I deserve to be broken down, to be made better for you, to know that this is my place, here, with you, wherever you want me.”

Enjolras tosses the cane aside and sits down on the edge of the bed, stroking Grantaire’s trembling back with his hand. “You perfect little whore,” Enjolras says. “Later I’m going to thrash you until my arm is sore and your back bleeds. Just for my own pleasure.” He takes a moment to gauge whether or not they need a break for aftercare, but Grantaire seems fine. He’s groaning, his eyes glazed with pain and want.

“Please,” is all he says.

“Are you hard, fucktoy?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You enjoyed being hurt? Being made to degrade yourself?”

“Yes. Fuck, Master, please—“

Enjolras laughs. “Oh, you won’t come today. Not unless you earn it very, very thoroughly.”

“I—please, Master, how can I—what can I do?”

“Get on your knees, what do you think you should do?”

Grantaire scrambles to obey.

As soon as he’s kneeling on the ground, Enjolras takes a harsh handful of his hair again, pulling him forward and forcing him to mouth against Enjolras’ crotch, still covered by the sweatpants he’d slept in. Grantaire sucks eagerly at the very visible bulge Enjolras’ cock is making, letting out little whimpers of desperation.

Enjolras yanks on his hair, pulling him back a little, and slaps him hard across the face. Grantaire keens, a noise that is distinctly wanting and pleased. “You are such a fucking cockslut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, please, that’s what I am, for you—“

“Just a thing, a toy for me to use. At least you know that’s what you are.” Enjolras stands, letting his pants slip down to his knees, exposing his hard cock. He takes it in hand, letting go of Grantaire’s hair to let him move forward.

Grantaire takes the tip of Enjolras’ cock between his lips.

“I’m going to fuck your face,” Enjolras says calmly. “You just have to take it. Keep your hands behind your back, and try not to choke. Let me use you, slave.”

Grantaire whimpers and opens his mouth wider, ready and waiting for it as Enjolras thrusts in. Enjolras pulls his hair hard, forcing his mouth down. He chokes a little bit, but doesn’t gag. Grantaire can feel the instinctive panic welling up, but makes himself stay still.

“Don’t move,” Enjolras orders, pushing even deeper inside Grantaire’s mouth, and then holding there, feeling him choke.

He pulls away after a few seconds. Grantaire coughs, gasping for air, and Enjolras pulls his hair, making Grantaire look up at him.

“Do you like that, bitch? You like choking on my cock?”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire says, his voice raspy already.

Enjolras looks down at him, his heart swelling with love and desire for this man, this beautiful, incredible man, who so generously gives him everything. “I am going to use you,” Enjolras says to him, “until you break.”

“Please,” Grantaire says, and Grantaire hates begging, never knows what to say, usually has to be ordered to do it, but the words are coming so easily now. They’ve practically just begun the scene and he already feels like it’s so easy to let this out, to confess what he needs. “Please, Master, please, use me, use my mouth. Please let me pleasure you. Let me make you feel good. That’s all I want. I want to make you come, please, please—“

“All right. If you want it so badly, go ahead and choke yourself on my cock, whore.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking up at Enjolras, and there’s something in his eyes but Enjolras can’t decide what, so he gently cups Grantaire’s cheek with his hand.

“What do you need, love?” he asks, and Grantaire closes his eyes and presses into the gentle touch for a moment.

“Just this,” he says, with a small smile, and then opens his mouth and swallows Enjolras’ cock down.

Enjolras lets out a strangled moan, tangling his fingers in Grantaire’s hair to anchor himself. “Good boy,” he says, and Grantaire is moving, pulling off and swallowing him deep again, fucking his face on Enjolras’ cock. He makes himself choke, over and over and over again.

Enjolras can feel the wet swipe of his tongue occasionally. The head of his cock is slipping into Grantaire’s throat with every thrust. He keeps pulling at Grantaire’s hair, watching tears well in his eyes from the pain, but not controlling the motions at all.

“You think you deserve this, slave? Do you think you’re good enough to have my cock in your mouth?”

Grantaire lets out a strangled sound as he goes down again, and Enjolras pulls him off harshly by his hair. He slaps Grantaire’s face, hard.

“Answer me when I speak to you, worthless.”

“I—no, Master, I don’t.” He leans in, daring to press a kiss to Enjolras’ exposed hip, the jut of bone behind pale skin always one of his favorite parts of his lover’s body. “Thank you for using me, even though I don’t deserve it.”

Enjolras can’t help the muffled “fuck,” that escapes his lips. “You’re so good. So hot. I can’t—I’m going to have to come now. You need to make me come.”

“Yes, please,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras can see just how much he wants that, how deep and genuine his desire to be hurt and used for Enjolras’ pleasure is. And Enjolras wouldn’t be giving Grantaire what he needs from this scene if he didn’t take advantage of that.

“You can choose, then. If you want to make me come, you don’t get to—not now, at least, not for hours and hours. I’ll bend you over and make you tease yourself until you cry for me, and I won’t let you come until you’re aching.”

“Please,” Grantaire says. “Anything, I don’t care, I just want to please you.”

“Your mouth. All the way down, and hold,” Enjolras orders, and Grantaire goes all the way down, choking himself. Enjolras tugs at Grantaire’s hair as he comes, letting out a low groan, and Grantaire gags but stays in place, swallowing hard.

He can’t get it all, though, and as Enjolras pulls away a tiny dribble of come drips out from between Grantaire’s swollen lips and onto the floor.

“Well?” Enjolras says. “Don’t waste it, if you want it so badly.”

Grantaire whimpers and bends down, licking the drops of come off the ground. He can hardly think past the haze of wanting—the want for pleasure, yes, but more importantly the want for this to keep going, the want for Enjolras to hurt him and humiliate him and use him, the want to be his completely.

It doesn’t even register that he shouldn’t be doing this, that it’s filthy and degrading to lick come off the floor. Enjolras’ order goes through him instantly, and he obeys without considering it, without a single thought.

It’s only when the ground is clean that Grantaire starts to feel something like shame through the deep subspace he’s in. Nearly as soon as the feeling registers, though, Enjolras’ warm palm is on his cheek, his fingers running along Grantaire’s cheekbone. “How are you, love?”

“I’m good, sir.”

“You are. You are so good. Do you need a bit of a break? Be honest.”

“No. But I need—I need you.”

“Why don’t we go into the living room? I’d like to do some reading, and you can kneel at my feet like a good boy.”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire says, smiling up at him.

“Good.” Enjolras doesn’t even look at him as he crawls, just walks with Grantaire following along behind him.

Enjolras gets a book off the shelf, and then orders Grantaire down onto hands and knees, swinging his feet up onto Grantaire’s back to use him as a footrest. Grantaire lets out a little breath, and Enjolras draws his foot back and kicks him, hard, in the side.

“Quiet, worthless.”

Grantaire doesn’t react to that, and so Enjolras rewards him by reaching down to ruffle his hair. He pets him gently for a second, then begins to ignore him.

Or at least play at ignoring him. Really, he’s concentrating at least as much on the steady movement of Grantaire’s chest rising and falling underneath his feet as he is on the words on the page.

He sneaks up glances at Grantaire every page or so. Grantaire’s eyes are trained obediently on the ground, looking downwards with an expression of peace and contentment on his face. Enjolras smiles as he reads. He lets Grantaire stay there, on his hands and knees with Enjolras’ feet on his back, for a while, until Grantaire starts minutely shifting underneath him, clearly unable to remain in position any longer.

Enjolras sets his book aside, moving his feet to the floor, and reaches down to pet Grantaire again.

“How are you doing, slut?”

“Well, Master. M-may-“

“What?”

Grantaire is blushing. “May I go to the bathroom, please, sir?”

“Yes. Crawl there and back, and then you can go to the kitchen and cook me lunch.”

“May I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“What would you like me to make, Master?”

Enjolras can tell by the tone of Grantaire’s voice that he needs clear direction. “Nothing too complicated. Grilled cheese, maybe cut up an apple to go with it. Make enough for both of us, you’ve been a good boy and I’ll feed you by hand.”

Grantaire leans towards Enjolras, kissing his hand when it’s in reach. “Thank you, Master.”

“Of course.”

Enjolras shifts into the other chair so he’ll have a view into their kitchen. He doesn’t want to let Grantaire out of his sight.

He picks his book back up, reading half-heartedly while Grantaire moves around the kitchen. He’s singing to himself, off-tune under his breath, as he cooks. Enjolras smiles, enjoying the sight of his completely naked boyfriend moving around the kitchen, cooking him his favorite foods before crawling back to his feet.

They decided from the very beginning that total power exchange wasn’t what they wanted, that their kinks were something to keep more or less in the bedroom. However, Enjolras can’t deny how incredibly, powerfully moving this is. Not just hot—he isn’t actually in the mood at this exact second—but moving, in some way he doesn’t even know how to describe.

Grantaire’s trust, Grantaire’s devotion, Grantaire’s service—it’s the most incredible thing Enjolras has ever been given in his life.

These thoughts are interrupted when Grantaire settles back onto his knees, right between Enjolras’ legs, and offers up the plate of food he’s made.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, and eats a piece of sandwich before settling the plate onto the end table. Grantaire has thoughtfully cut the food into little pieces, so it’s easy to feed him little bites here and there. Grantaire’s eyes are on Enjolras, warm and devoted, as Enjolras feeds the two of them lunch.

Grantaire takes pieces of sandwich from between Enjolras’ fingers with his teeth, then reverently kisses his hand, after every bite.

“The food is delicious,” Enjolras says, after a while.

“Thank you, sir.”

“How are you feeling? You seem a little out of it.”

“I am. But in a good way. I feel- I don’t know. Very submissive. Very good. Very much yours. I like this. Eating from your hand. I like that I’m yours.”

“Good boy,” Enjolras murmurs, leaning down to kiss Grantaire’s forehead. “Thank you for being honest with me. You certainly are out of it.”

“Yes, sir. But I want even more.”

“You do?” Enjolras says. “Tell me. What do you want.” He offers Grantaire another bite of food, to give him some time to think as he chews and swallows.

“I want—you mentioned earlier that you were going to thrash me, because it turns you on to hurt me. I’d like that.”

“That doesn’t sound like the way a filthy slave ought to beg its master for something,” Enjolras says, keeping his voice calm and relishing the way Grantaire reacts, the sharp breath he sucks in at the words.

“I’m sorry, Master. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to speak so disrespectfully… I was just… I was just turned on by- I mean, I’m embarassed. I let my embarassment get the best of me, and I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. Now ask properly.”

“If it would please you, sir, I would like it very much if you would consider beating me this afternoon. I love it when you hurt me, I love how it feels and I love how powerful you are, I love when you have that power over me, and I’d like it very much if you would, please, beat me until I cry. Please. I want to see how much I can take for you. How- how good a slave I can be for you.”

“Better,” Enjolras says. Then, “I’ll consider it. Finished eating?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You can wash up the dishes, and then crawl back over here. You look awfully pretty at my feet.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Grantaire does as he’s told, and when he returns Enjolras gently tilts his head up. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything, Master.”

“Crawl to the bedroom. Get lube. Bend over the back of that chair, and finger yourself.”

“Yes, Master.”

“If you can take—hmm. Let’s say half an hour. Half an hour of two of your own fingers in your slutty little hole, rubbing at your prostate, giving you pleasure but no relief, then I’ll beat you.”

“I don’t- I don’t know if I can,” Grantaire says. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Enjolras bends and kisses his forehead. “Sweet boy. You won’t disappoint me. Stop if you feel like you can’t prevent yourself from coming, and I won’t beat you but I won't be upset.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re my good boy,” Enjolras says, reassuringly, and a happy smile drifts across Grantaire’s face.

“That’s all I want,” Grantaire says, and it’s beautiful how true that is. He crawls off, obedient as ever, to get the lube and spread himself out as ordered. He’s on display for Enjolras.

“Spread your legs wider,” Enjolras orders, keeping his voice casual, like he could be talking about the weather. “I want it to hurt.”

“Yes, Master.” Grantaire obeys, moving into a position that’s quite a stretch for his muscles, as he spreads lube across two of his fingers.

Enjolras picks his book back up. He doesn’t look at Grantaire as he pushes the fingers into himself and starts to do as he was told, at least not so Grantaire can tell he’s being watched. After every page- and Enjolras is a fast reader- he spares a glance up at him. He notices Grantaire’s thighs are shaking already. “What’s the matter?”

“I- can I- please, can I make noise? Please?”

“All you’d like,” Enjolras grants.

“Thank you, fuck, thank you,” Grantaire says, his voice breaking, and he’s still in place, still fingering himself so that Enjolras can watch or not watch as he pleases. His position is clearly uncomfortable, fingers not a deep enough angle to really feel all that good even as they graze his prostate, legs spread too wide, but he’s doing it all on Enjolras’ word, on Enjolras’ whim.

He’s suffering so much. Enjolras can tell from the high pitch of the moans that are coming out of him, from his tremulous little whimpers and his shaking legs and the obscene spread of his legs. He’s hurting, all for Enjolras. All so Enjolras will hurt him more, because it happened to occur to Enjolras that he might like to hurt Grantaire.

He belongs, completely, to Enjolras in this moment. He’s here to please and that’s what he’s going to do, even if he has to suffer to do it.

No matter what it takes.

And Enjolras is inclined to let him suffer at least a while longer.

It’s been about fifteen minutes- Enjolras is keeping an eye on his watch- and he doesn’t think he’ll make Grantaire take the whole half hour, not least because his own erection is becoming a pressing distraction from his book. But a little more. A little more time watching Grantaire’s thick fingers slide in and out of himself, watching him try to keep an even pace so he doesn’t lose control, watching him go just a little further in and touch his prostate and whimper and then try to avoid it on the next time but not being able to, watching him pleasuring himself and hurting even more because of it-

It’s an intoxicating sight.

Grantaire is gasping for breath and moaning and Enjolras can’t see his face, only his legs and his ass and his hands, the one fucking himself and the one gripped white-knuckled against the back of the chair. And that’s hot, too, looking at his beloved, treasured boyfriend like this, like part of a body, objectified this way like the only parts of him that matter are the parts that can please Enjolras.

The thought is too much.

“Come here,” Enjolras orders, because he has Grantaire so ready and willing to serve, probably wanting nothing more than to pleasure him, and there’s no reason to deny himself. “I’ve changed my mind. For the rest of your time, instead of fucking yourself on your fingers, you may fuck yourself on my cock.”

Grantaire, who’s returned to his place at Enjolras’ feet, looks up at him. His eyes are blown so wide, almost all dark pupil, and his mouth is red and shiny with spit and wide open from panting with need. His cheeks are flushed red and his whole body is trembling just slightly. “Thank you, Master,” Grantaire says.

“You’ll make me come, and then I’m going to beat you until I’m ready to use you again. That time I’ll fuck you, nice and hard, on your hands and knees how you like. If you’re good, you’ll be allowed to come then. I don’t know, though. You’ll have to take a long beating for me, and it’ll be hard. Vicious, even. I’m going to make you cry, make you whimper and plead, make you hurt like you deserve to be hurt.”

“If it pleases you,” Grantaire says, open and honest, “then that’s what I want. Please.”

Enjolras wants to do what he usually would, which is to gather Grantaire close and tell him he’s a good boy, but instead he slaps him hard across the face. “Pathetic,” he sneers. “Look how desperate you are. You’d do anything to be allowed to make me come, because you know that’s all you’re worth, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire gasps.

“The only way you’ll ever be any use is as a little fucktoy, so you just have to beg and plead to be used, for me to fuck you and dump my cum in you because otherwise you’re just useless.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire moans. “God, Enjolras-“

Enjolras slaps him again. “Are you forgetting your place, worthless? I must be hearing things, because I could have sworn I just heard my name come out of your hole of a mouth.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Better. I think I just described a very generous plan to you. You’ll get fucked twice, which I know is all a low slut like you wants in life. I’m going to expend a great deal of my valuable energy using you, and then even more thrashing you- which I know you don’t enjoy, but you ought to be grateful for my attention. I might even let you come. Isn’t that much more than you deserve?”

“Yes, Master.”

“What do you deserve?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire says. “Nothing, Master, I don’t even deserve to be allowed to lick your boots. Every time you touch me is more than I deserve, is a gift. Please-“

Enjolras feels a jolt of concern. Has he gone too far? Is Grantaire playing this game with him, or is he letting his insecurities out? “Grantaire?”

It’s the first time he’s used his name in a while- in a scene he prefers dirty nicknames as much as Enjolras prefers titles- and it gets his attention. Grantaire meets his eyes, smiles, warm and bright and real. “Please.”

Enjolras smiles back. “Good. Up. Sit on my cock.”

Grantaire does as he’s told, rising to stand and straddling Enjolras, so they’re face to face. Enjolras wraps his hands around Grantaire’s wrists, pinning them behind his back.

“Keep them there,” he says. “You’d better be good, or I’ll just fuck you and leave you wanting. You make one mistake, and I won’t let you come. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your hands stay behind your back. You don’t get to touch me and you don’t get to touch yourself.”

Grantaire bites his lower lip a little. “If I fall-“

“I’ll catch you. Or I’ll throw you down and fuck you into the floor.”

Grantaire grins. “So romantic.”

“Are you talking back, or are you riding my cock, slut?”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, seriously, and Enjolras hooks a finger through the loop in Grantaire’s collar, tugging up and letting go, tugging up and letting go, setting the pace until Grantaire picks up on it, realizes how Enjolras wants him to move.

Grantaire is strong, but it’s a difficult position for him, without the use of his hands. Enjolras can feel his thighs trembling as he struggles to keep up the fast pace Enjolras has set up for him.

When he falters for the first time, slowing a bit, Enjolras slaps him across the face. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Fucking useless. This is the only thing you’re for and you can’t even do this right.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire whispers, starting to move faster again. Enjolras is trying not to lose himself in the feeling so he keeps talking.

“That’s right. You’re for fucking. For being fucked. You exist to be this warm, tight little hole for me and that’s it.”

“Yes,” Grantaire says, his voice trembling. “Yes, yes, please. Use me, tell me what to do, anything, anything.”

“Good whore.”

Grantaire is shaking and gasping, his bitten-red lips parted as he breathes, heavily, from exertion and desire. He knows he won’t be coming now, though, not now or soon. Maybe at all, if he doesn’t do well enough.

Enjolras puts a hand on his lower back, helping support him. His touch feels burning hot against Grantaire’s skin, almost unbearable.

And then Enjolras leans in and presses the softest, gentlest kiss against Grantaire’s lips. Grantaire whimpers, trying to press back against his lips, opening his mouth for more. Enjolras takes Grantaire’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs, hard, hard enough that he tastes the edge of blood though when he smooths his tongue back over the bite he doesn’t feel a break in the skin.

Grantaire looks amazing like this. He’s suffering so much, all for Enjolras. Suffering because Enjolras wants him to.

God, Enjolras can’t wait to beat him. He’s going to take it so beautifully, Enjolras can tell. But he can’t rush ahead. He’s taking his time with this now.

He leans in and bites along Grantaire’s neck, leaving a trail of marks above his collar. The marks will bruise. Tomorrow, when Enjolras is working, when he doesn’t have time to spend the entire day spreading Grantaire out and tying him down and hurting him and playing with him, he’ll still be wearing these marks. Enjolras can text him in the middle of the day, have Grantaire lock the door to his studio and jerk himself off, pressing his fingers into the bruises, remembering this, remembering who he belongs to.

Maybe the marks will last all week, until the meeting next Friday, until all their friends can see Grantaire bitten and bruised.

Grantaire has a limit about bringing talk about others into their sex play, so Enjolras will never so much as mention it, but he can’t deny the possessive thrill he gets from thinking that. Anyone who sees these marks will know that Grantaire is claimed.

Enjolras bites him again, sinking his teeth into Grantaire’s shoulder until Grantaire almost sobs, but doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t try to flinch away from the pain.

He’s so good. Enjolras couldn’t ask for anyone sweeter or better or more generous with himself.

He takes Grantaire’s hands in his, drawing them from their place behind Grantaire’s back and pulling them up to his lips to press a kiss to each of Grantaire’s knuckles. When he finishes, looking up at his lover’s face, Grantaire is biting his lower lip hard, like he’s trying to bite back words.

“Good boy,” Enjolras says firmly.

“Sir, please,” Grantaire pleads. “Please-“

“What do you want, pet? Do you want mercy? Do you want me to be sweet and gentle with you?”

“No, Master. Please don’t. Please don’t stop hurting me.”

Enjolras growls and hits him again, right across the face, a hard, open-handed slap. “You can move your left hand only. Touch yourself.”

“But sir-“

“Touch yourself, and don’t come.” Enjolras hits him again, harder. “I want to see you wanting. I want to see you helpless.”

Grantaire does as he’s told. His hand is shaking as he wraps it around his cock, and his strokes are uneven, jerky and short. It’s not the way he touches himself when he’s trying to get off—just the opposite, in fact. He must be close enough that this is a real struggle for him. Enjolras has been playing with him, hurting him, using him for hours now and he’s had no relief at all. And yet he’s not disobeying, he’s not going against Enjolras’ least little order, because as much as his body must be desperate for relief he’s even more desperate for Enjolras and that’s perfect.

This is what he wanted, after all. To be broken down completely. Grantaire is trembling and his eyes are full of tears, his cheeks flushed red (and bearing the marks of Enjolras’ palms) and his lips red and bitten, his perfect hands moving slow and desperate up and down his weeping cock, and he looks beautiful.

“Off. On your knees,” Enjolras orders suddenly, his voice harsh.

“Are-“ Grantaire begins then bites the words back.

Enjolras figures it out, though. “No, no, my love. You’re doing so well. I just want to come all over your pretty face,” he assures him, kissing his forehead gently.

“Yes sir,” Grantaire grins, sliding off Enjolras’ lap and onto the ground between his legs. Tentatively, he reaches a hand out towards Enjolras’ erection.

“Go ahead,” Enjolras says, shifting forward a little so Grantaire can stroke him off.

Grantaire’s touches are fast and even, keeping up the rhythm he’d set while riding Enjolras before, and it only takes a little while for Enjolras to groan and buck his hips into Grantaire’s touch before he’s coming. The orgasm pools, low and hot in the base of his stomach, and goes on and on. He watches, almost awed by the beauty of the moment, of the man on his knees in front of him, as his come stripes Grantaire’s flushed cheeks and open mouth.

“Fuck,” Enjolras murmurs, and Grantaire whimpers.

“Please, please, please-“

“Be quiet,” Enjolras orders, and Grantaire bites down on his lower lip to stifle his moans. Enjolras’ softening cock gives a little twitch at that.

Good. This should be easy.

Enjolras gives himself a few moments to rest, letting the haze of orgasm subside slowly, sweetly. Grantaire waits at his feet, occasional shifting all that betrays his impatience.

After a while, Enjolras tugs on his hair to get his attention. He looks up, and meets Enjolras’ eyes—and again Enjolras feels stricken by just how he looks. His eyes are blown wide and there’s come drying on his face and he’s smiling ever so slightly. He’s the most beautiful thing Enjolras has ever seen.

“What do you want me to beat you with?” Enjolras asks him. “It’s going to be on your back and ass, maybe a bit on your thighs, so we can go a nice long time. You can choose the implement, though.”

“Whatever you want, sir.”

“We could go back to the cane, like we did this morning. Give you welts all over. Or the crop, that would be fun too. I could go nice and even, all over your back, with the flogger. Turn all your pretty skin pink. What would you like?”

Grantaire’s voice is a little desperate. “I don’t care, sir. I just want to please you. Whatever you’d like best.”

Enjolras nods. It’s not the first time this has happened. When Grantaire gets far enough into subspace, sometimes he finds himself unwilling, almost unable, to make choices in a scene. It’s important to him to be able to give that up to Enjolras, and it’s Enjolras’ resposibility to be willing to take what Grantaire is giving him.

“You’ll get the belt,” he decides. It’s a kind of pain Grantaire likes, and he’s certainly been good enough to deserve getting something he enjoys. More important, it’s something Grantaire can take a lot of, and he really wants to be able to follow through on what he promised. He needs another minute to recover, though, and decides to make it count by saying, “Ask me nicely.”

“Please,” Grantaire starts out. He blinks, like he’s trying to find more eloquent words, but then just keeps going. “Please, sir. Please beat me. I need it. Whatever you want. I’m yours. Use me how you need to. Please.”

“Are you ready for it?”

“I am. I promise. Please. I’ll take it so well. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be good.”

Enjolras can’t help it. He has to respond, “You’re already perfect.”

Grantaire smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

“C’mon, boy. Hands and knees,” Enjolras orders. There will be no more little lapses, no more moments of gentleness. Not til they’re done. They’re going to finish out Grantaire’s fantasy.

He’s quite level-headed now, in the wake of his orgasm. He’s ready to give Grantaire what he needs. Thoroughly.

He stands, dropping to one knee behind Grantaire as silently as he can so Grantaire won’t know the first blow, hard and sharp and delivered with the flat of his hand, is coming until it lands with a satisfying smack on Grantaire’s ass.

Grantaire lets out a very pleasing whimper and pushes his ass into the warmth of Enjolras’ hand.

Enjolras draws his palm back and hits him again.

“Fuck,” Grantaire murmurs, and then, “Master.”

“What is it, whore?” he asks, teasingly running his fingers around the edges of the marks.

“Feels good. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For hitting me,” Grantaire says, his voice thick.

Enjolras starts to spank him again, taking up a rhythm with his hand as he speaks. He keeps his voice casual and calm as he hits Grantaire, a slap and then a second’s rest and then a slap again, hard and firm and unrelenting. “You’re thanking me for beating you?”

“Yes- fuck- yes- ow- Sir. Yes, sir.”

“Why would you do that? Most people would consider getting hit a bad thing, you know.”

“I know. I love it, though. Ye-oh, oh, please- yes. I love it. I love your hands on me, however you give them to me. I even love the pain. And I’m grateful for it because you promised. If I’m good you’ll fuck me after, you’ll let me come. That’s what I want. I want the pain but I want that even more. I want to please you. Sir-“

“You,” Enjolras says, slowly so he can emphasize every word with a smack, “are such a filthy whore.”

Grantaire groans low in his throat, at the words and at the pain.

“Do you think you’re warmed up enough for the belt now, slut?”

“If you do, sir.”

Enjolras allows himself to bend down and press a single kiss to Grantaire’s lower back before straightening up to his feet and taking his belt off from where it’s currently hanging open around his waist. He does up his jeans at the same time, wanting the feeling of being secured, buttoned-up, in control.

He carefully doubles the belt over and then brings it down, hard, against Grantaire’s ass. He’s precise with the blow, aiming it right at the middle, where the flesh is thickest and he’s most warmed up, where it’s safest.

Still, Grantaire lets out a noise so strangled and desperate it doesn’t even sound human

When Enjolras brings down the second blow, his cry is just a long, wordless, “Ahh,” like a sigh. He lowers down, dropping his elbows onto the floor and resting his head there, so he’s prostrate on the ground, only his ass pushed up towards Enjolras.

Enjolras hits him again.

Grantaire lets out another one of those moans.

“Oh, you do love this,” Enjolras says. “You’re so dirty, you’re even getting off on this. On the knowledge that your body is nothing more than a toy for me to play with. Covered in bruises and cum already and you’re just letting me hurt you more.”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire says, his voice shaky as he takes the fifth blow. “Yes.”

“Are you ready to take it hard, now? I remember something about thrashing you til my arm is sore. Are you ready for it? Do you want it like the desperate bitch you are?”

“Yes,” Grantaire all but moans, his voice need and fear and absolute surrender all at once. “Anything.”

Enjolras takes him up on it.

He lets go. He lets himself go completely, sets aside his careful control, and just beats him. He’s bringing the belt down fast and hard, sticking to Grantaire’s ass and thighs so he doesn’t miss and hit where he could do damage, but where he can really let go.

It’s amazing. Usually he’s so careful when they play with pain, because it isn’t Grantaire’s thing and he doesn’t want to push his love too far.

Now, though, Grantaire is as on board with the scene as he is. For different reasons—it’s clear that what Grantaire is getting out of it is the service, the pleasure of suffering for Enjolras’ pleasure, rather than the actual pain—but he’s still sighing and pressing his ass into the blows and holding nice and still otherwise to take it.

He’s still asking for it, a steady stream of pleading that hits Enjolras with a wave of arousal.

“Please, Master, please, Enjolras, please, don’t stop, hurt me, hurt me, please-“

He’s half hard already by the time Grantaire’s voice starts to crack. He looks down, seeing the array of welts he’s left across Grantaire’s ass and thighs, the even pink marks criss-crossed on his tan skin, some starting to puff up around the edges.

He bends in close and pinches one, viciously, and Grantaire lets out a little ragged cry of pain.

Enjolras is breathing hard from the exertion of hitting him, and his arm is already starting to ache. He gives himself a little break, leaning in close to pinch and scratch at Grantaire’s new marks. Grantaire is making desperate, high-pitched, hurt noises as he does so, like the pain and the desperation and the degradation have finally driven him completely under.

Enjolras meant to calm him down a bit by giving him a break from the belt. The opposite seems to be happening. He’s so riled up Enjolras feels a moments’ doubt whether or not he should keep going, before Grantaire starts to plead again.

“More, more, take me, however you want me, please-“

Well, that answers the question of whether or not Grantaire’s too out of it. He’s certainly deep in subspace, but he seems to be floating pleasantly, not crashing the way he sometimes does.

Enjolras drops to the ground behind him, fisting a hand in Grantaire’s hair and forcing his head back so he has easy access to the sensitive shell of Grantaire’s ear.

At first, he just runs his tongue along the sensitive skin, tracing the edge until Grantaire shivers. "Please," he repeats, brokenly

"Can you take more pain for me?"

"Anything you want. As much as you want."

"Is that what you'd like, bitch? Is that what you'll beg me for?"

"Yes," Grantaire says, the word turning into a strangled moan as Enjolras bites his ear.

Then Enjolras starts with the belt again. Grantaire is gasping now, wordless, every blow sending a shiver through him. And he just lets Enjolras keep hurting him.

Grantaire is limp and boneless by the time Enjolras decides he can no longer wait to fuck him. He's still on his knees, his body jerking forward with every impact of the belt. He doesn't struggle, doesn't flinch, doesn't cry out. He's making little soft noises, though, pained but quiet, almost delicate, but he stays still and good for Enjolras to hurt him.

He's the sexiest fucking thing in the world and Enjolras can't believe he's all his.

"I'm going to use you now," he says, because Grantaire deserves another chance to back out if he wants one.

Grantaire doesn't answer, so Enjolras smacks him firmly with his palm, getting a stammered, "Please, Master."

"I should have plugged you," Enjolras comments. "Toys should always be ready for use."

"I am," Grantaire says. "I can take it now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

There's nothing Enjolras can say to that but "good boy," as he kneels down behind Grantaire. He still tests out a finger inside him, but though he feels tight he doesn't protest. Enjolras slicks himself up and braces himself, a hand on Grantaire's hip. He's almost tempted by the slope of his back to lean in and press a little kiss to his skin, but he doesn't. This isn't supposed to making love to him, it's supposed to be making use of him.

So he doesn't say anything.

There's been plenty of talking in the scene, Enjolras has gotten him right into the headspace he needs to be in, and now he's going to take advantage of that.

Grantaire is perfectly still as Enjolras slides into him, nice and easy. He lets out a noise- more of a groan than anything else, a deep, sighing sound like he's being broken apart and put back together all at once.

For a second, Enjolras is just lost in the pleasure- in how hot and tight Grantaire is around him.

And then Grantaire starts to talk

"Master, thank you. Thank you for holding me down and using me. I know I don't deserve it. I know all I am is a useless fucktoy, I know I'm not good enough to be yours. Thank you for using me anyway, for giving me this. Thank you."

The words hit Enjolras like a shot. That, and the clenching heat of Grantaire around him- he could com that second. But he gets himself under control. He needs to remember that Grantaire comes first, and what he's saying- either he needs more, or he needs mercy, and Enjolras isn't sure which. He suspects the former, but he's not sure. And right now, Grantaire so vulnerable, Grantaire broken down by his hand, he can't afford to take any chances.

He stops moving. "Grantaire, talk to me. What do you want?"

"To please you."

Well, that's not helpful. "We can stop and make love, or I can keep humiliating you if that's what you want. "

"It's what I want. Please."

"No need to beg," Enjolras says, starting to thrust again. "After all, who cares what a piece of trash like you wants anyway? No, you'll get fucked because I want to fuck you. I don't give a shit what you think about it. You're only my slave."

Grantaire gasps, and then says, "Yes, yes, fuck I'm nothing without this, without your cock in me, it's what I am, it's what I'm for-"

"The only thing you're good for," Enjolras agrees, then leans in close. Gently, tenderly, he whispers into Grantaire's ear, "you dirty, useless slut."

Grantaire moans at that and starts rocking back eagerly onto Enjolras. He's wild with it, his backwards thrusts completely out of control. He's just desperately trying to get as much of Enjolras in him as fast as he can, and fuck, it's amazing, but it's not what Enjolras has planned and he needs to stay in control.

"I know," Enjolras croons in his ear. "I know how bad you want it, I know you're such a desperate whore you'd happily fuck yourself sore on me, but is that what I told you to do?"

"No," Grantaire manages, his voice small.

"Honestly, I don't ask all that much of you. You can't even manage being a fucktoy? I'm disappointed."

Grantaire had spelled that out in his fantasy, but Enjolras is still a little nervous until he gets Grantaire's answering groan.

"You can make it up to me, though. Prove to me that you know what you are, that you understand that you exist to please me, for me to fuck and hurt and please. You're going to hold perfectly still- though you can talk- and I'm going to hold you down and use you and you're going to come for me, from this and nothing else. You're going to show me how much you love servicing me like this."

"I have permission?" Grantaire confirms.

"Whenever you can come. But you don't get a hand on your cock. You don't need that. We both know you can get off just from serving your purpose."

At least, Enjolras hopes so. He's been able to do it plenty of times before, and he's so deep in subspace now that if Enjolras asked him to flap his arms and fly to the moon he'd probably at least give it his best shot.

But if he doesn't manage, Enjolras can come up with an excuse to help him along a little.

"So," Enjolras says, "what is it that you want? What do you need?"

"Hold me down, Master, and take me," he pleads, and Enjolras does just that. He tangles a fist in Grantaire's hair and forces his face to the ground.

"Stay there. Low. Where you fucking belong."

The position forces his ass up, too, lets Enjolras get a good angle to slide deep into him again.

He doesn't do any of why he usually would. He doesn't take a minute to let Grantaire adjust, doesn't press a gentle kiss just above his collar, doesn't check in to make sure there's enough lube. He just starts fucking him, hard and brutal and deep.

As he does, when he can find the breath, he talks. "Look at you, sweet little thing, red and bruised and shaking for me. Oh, you’re so lovely to use. You’re all mine.”

He bites at Grantaire’s shoulder and Grantaire cries out and tenses around him.

Enjolras has his hands on Grantaire’s hips, bracing himself there firmly enough that it might bruise and that it probably hurts, considering the belt marks welting now all over his skin, but Grantaire is still babbling back at him. “Yes, please, hold me down, your hands feel so amazing, thank you for touching me, thank you for using me, thank you-“

“Yeah, that’s it, beg for me, beg to be degraded and hurt and used-“

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, Sir, I love this, I live for this, it feels so perfect to have you inside me-“

“I bet it does. You’re nothing without it.”

Enjolras pulls his hair hard on that, viciously pressing his face down into the floor, and Grantaire tenses up hard for a second, shaking and shaking. He’s silent, his whole body trembling, as he comes wordlessly and soundlessly and untouched. It’s the words that do it, the words that hit him like a blow, like a wave of pleasure.

Even after all the pain and pleasure, teasing and playing, stimulation and touching that’s happened today, even after all the fantasies that have come true, it’s still the words that get to him. The degradation, the tone of Enjolras’ voice, all low and rough and dirty—everything about it, even the fact that he knows down to his soul that it’s only words, that Enjolras doesn’t mean it—it’s the most incredible thing he can imagine, enough to send him into one of the most intense orgasms in his life. 

His orgasm goes on and on and on. He’s been holding back for so long, and now that it’s happening it’s unstoppable. It’s this huge wave of pleasure. Unlike when he comes from stimulation on his cock, this is a full-body experience. He’s shaking everywhere, every muscle in his body tensing and relaxing and trembling with the wonder of pleasure, of release. Every nerve in his body is alight. He feels on top of the word and grounded all at once.

Enjolras fucks him through it, like he doesn’t even notice it’s happened. Like it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t. Grantaire is still his to use, even as his body goes limp and sensitive in the wake of orgasm. He lies there, face on the floor, quivering all over, as Enjolras drives into him again and again and again until at last he’s coming too. 

When they’re done, Enjolras carefully pulls out, still bracing his hand on Grantaire’s hip.

“Sweetheart?” he murmurs. “You all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire mumbles. His voice seems small and far away.

“What do you need?”

“Master?”

Enjolras takes a deep breath, pushing away the frustration with himself. Of course Grantaire doesn’t need to be making choices right now. “We’re all finished with the scene, love. I’m going to take good care of you now.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do you think you can stand up?”

Grantaire hesitates. Enjolras offers him a hand, carefully, and is able to pull him up to sitting pretty easily. He’d been intending to get him into bed, but over onto the chouch is going to have to do for right now.

When they’re manuevered over there, Enjolras sitting up and Grantaire lying with his head in Enjolras’ lap, Enjolras is silent at first. He pets Grantaire’s hair and makes a plan. He’ll need a bath, but probably will want to cuddle for an hour or so first. Afterwards he’ll probably need something to eat. Shit, Enjolras should have had a glass of water ready for him. Now, though, he can’t risk moving, not with Grantaire resting on him, his eyes glazed and wide. 

“Hi, love,” Enjolras says, carding his fingers through Grantaire’s hair. He keeps his movements gentle and even and his voice low and soft. “You did so well for me. I’m so happy with you.”

Grantaire grins up at him. “Really, sir?”

Enjolras can tell from the response that Grantaire is still deep in subspace, hanging on Enjolras’ every word—and probably, after the intense degradation of the scene they’ve just finished, needing some gentleness to balance out the cruelty. “Yes. You were perfect for me. You took everything so well—the pain, the humiliation, everything. You served me beautifully, and now I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You tell me if you need anything, all right? You can talk, move, do whatever you’d like, now.”

Grantaire nods a little, and Enjolras can see his nervousness.

“You don’t have to, though. I’m here, love. I’m going to tell you what to do if that’s what you need. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire says, his voice breaking a little, and he dares to wrap an arm around Enjolras’ waist, reaching for a bit of comfort.

Enjolras immediately scoots downward so he’s lying face to face with Grantaire, wrapping both arms tight around him and presisng a long kiss to his forehead. “My good boy. So sweet, so obedient, so beautiful. My perfect, perfect boy.”

Grantaire is crying.

All the length of the scene, while Enjolras called him filthy names and made him choke on his cock and slapped him and beat him raw, he hadn’t shed a tear. Gasped and moaned, yes, but not cried. Now, as Enjolras comforts him, cuddles him close and praises him, great tears are dripping down his face, and he’s sobbing openly as he curls close into Enjolras’ arms.

“Oh, love,” Enjolras murmurs. “Hey. Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re okay. It’s okay if you need to cry. Anything you need. I’m going to be right here, taking care of you. I have you. I love you.”

Enjolras keeps whispering comfort at Grantaire, while Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras’ neck and cries and cries. Enjolras rubs his back and kisses the top of his head and then holds him close and prays this is just a release, prays he hasn’t gone too far and hurt Grantaire.

Grantaire cries a lot, during scenes. It’s an emotional release. Sometimes it even turns Enjolras on, watching his eyes fill wide with tears, watching him push through the pain to keep serving Enjolras.

It never stops being scary, though. He never gets used to the fact that his R, his love, is crying because of him, hurting because of him.

He will always feel a little sorry that he likes it, no matter how many times Grantaire reassures him that it’s okay. 

But tbere’s nothing he can do now except hold Grantaire close and wipe away his tears and be here.

“Sorry,” Grantaire says again.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir. I can’t stop crying. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Subdrop?” Enjolras asks. “Are you feeling cold? Shaky?”

“No, sir. Just teary. Just—“

“That’s all right. It’s all right to cry, love.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me that, you know. It’s all right if you want to, but you don’t have to.”

“It’s okay?”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras confirms.

“Thank you, sir.” Then Grantaire goes quiet. 

“Do you need something?”

“I’m all right,” Grantaire says.

“No, tell me.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Grantaire. Tell me,” Enjolras says, his voice low and firm.

“Can—can you just hold me? For a little bit? I need- I-“

“Of course,” Enjolras agrees. He holds Grantaire just as tight as he can. His boy cries for a little while longer, then eventually quiets down. Their fingers are laced together, and Grantaire squeezes Enjolras’ hand a little bit, then draws their joined hands up to his mouth to kiss the back of Enjolras’ hand.

“Sweet boy,” Enjolras says. “How are you doing?”

“All right. Sticky.”

Enjolras laughs. “I can imagine, since you do still technically speaking have my come all over your face.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Enjolras is relieved to hear Grantaire coming up from the scene so readily. “Mine. And I’m going to take care of it, don’t worry. Bath?”

“Sounds awesome.”

“You going to be okay here while I go start the water running?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. You call if you need me to come back, understand?” He keeps his voice firm so that Grantaire will be able to rely on the fact that it’s an order if subdrop starts affecting him.

“I will.”

With one more kiss to his forehead, Enjolras leaves Grantaire on the couch and goes to draw a bath. When the water is running, he goes to get a clean towel and some clean sweats, and then stops by in the kitchen for a cold glass of water. 

He comes back to give it to Grantaire, who is lying right where he was left. He helps Grantaire sit up and drapes a blanket around his shoulders while Grantaire drinks his water. 

“Well done,” Enjolras praises as he takes the glass. “Hungry?”

“I will be in half an hour. You know that.”

Enjolras laughs. Grantaire’s stomach is like clockwork—thirty minutes after sex, he always demands a snack. “How about you take your bath, and when you’re done we’ll call for pizza?”

“You’re my favorite boyfriend.”

“I’m your only boyfriend.”

“That’s what you think,” Grantaire teases. “Really, I have scores of other lovers. Dozens. Hundreds.”

“Mm, and how many of them make you come without a finger on your cock?”

“Just you. That’s why you’re my favorite.” Grantaire pauses, considering. “That, and the pizza.”

Enjolras laughs. “I love you, R.”

“I love you more.”

“That’s not true.” 

Grantaire is too sleepy and fucked-out to argue. Instead, he lets Enjolras manuever him into the steaming tub, letting out a little moan of pleasure as the warm water envelops his body. 

Enjolras squishes in behind him, holding Grantaire around the waist as he reaches for a washcloth.

“No need to move, love,” Enjolras murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Grantaire just hums in response, relaxing against Enjolras’ chest as Enjolras starts to wash him clean. 

“Does the water feel okay on the belt marks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doesn’t hurt?”

“Stings a little. Not too bad.”

“Okay. Let me know if it starts to bother you.”

“I will.”

That’s the last they talk for a little while. Enjolras wipes him clean, bit by bit. He starts with Grantaire’s face. It takes a bit of patience to clean the now-sticky come off, but he doesn’t want to press. He just moves the washcloth in slow, gentle circles until Grantaire is clean, and then down his chest and to his groin, washing off the traces of Grantaire’s own orgasm.

Every so often, he leans down and presses a kiss into Grantaire’s mop of curls. Grantaire will hum and relax back into him at this. He’s calm now, the tears from earlier completely subsided, as well as the clinginess that’s usually his first stage of drop. He could always start crying again—he’s usually vulnerable for a few hours after a scene—but it doesn’t matter. Enjolras is going to take care of him. 

Grantaire is bonelessly relaxed in Enjolras’ arms as the warm water starts to get cold. He’s resting his head back on Enjolras’ chest, listening to his heartbeat, half-asleep already.

Then, suddenly, he sits up. “I’m starving.”

Enjolras laughs. “Let’s get you dry, and I’ll order pizza.”

He set out towels earlier, and a pair of sweatpants for each of them. He dries Grantaire off thoroughly and the two of them move to the bedroom. Grantaire is still leaning on him a little bit, and Enjolras is happy to hold him up.

He pulls out his laptop and orders dinner. Grantaire talks him into ordering an absurd quantity of food for two people—garlic breadsticks, a large pizza, a liter of sweet tea, those chocolate lava cakes that are going to get all over the bed but which Grantaire loves—and then he closes the laptop and pulls Grantaire back into his arms.

“How are you feeling, pet?”

“Good,” Grantaire hums, pressing his face into Enjolras’ neck.

“I’m glad. Comfortable?”

“Mm-hmm. You’re warm.”

Enjolras cuddles him a little closer. “And you’re wonderful.”

“No, you’re wonderful. The wonderfulest.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Is so,” Grantaire mumbles, and Enjolras smiles and kisses his forehead. He’s still petting Grantaire’s hair, still holding him close.

Enjolras is overwhelmed with tenderness for the man in his arms. As he holds Grantaire, his heart feels almost too full of love, of pride, of wonder that Grantaire is his. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You did so well for me, you know that? That was so amazing. Thank you for being brave enough to ask me for that, thank you for being so sweet and obedient for me during the scene, thank you for being my beautiful boy. I’m so lucky to have you. I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

“All yours.”

“You are,” Enjolras agrees. “You’re mine and I’m going to take care of you.”

“You take the best care of me.”

“Thank you, love. I try. You deserve that, you know. You deserve the best.”

“I have you. Nothing could be more amazing,” Grantaire says, his face still hidden against Enjolras’ chest.

“My sweet boy. My love. You’re so good. You’re perfect.” Enjolras keeps murmuring praise at him for a while, until the doorbell rings. He sighs, unwilling to get out of this warm, comfortable bed with his sweet sub draped around him.

“I’m not moving,” Grantaire informs him, and Enjolras laughs.

“I’ve got it, love.”

He stands up and collects the pizza. They eat it in bed together, Enjolras half-feeding Grantaire as they pass the bottle of soda back and forth. Grantaire will teasingly kiss his fingers clean and then lean in to kiss his lips. They do end up getting grease stains on the sheets, but that’s all right. 

“Do you want to talk about the scene at all?” Enjolras asks as they’re breaking into the chocolate cake.

“I don’t know what there is to talk about. It was amazing, I loved it, I love you.”

“I’m really glad. Nothing was too much?”

“No. It was perfect. I went really deep under but I wouldn’t have been scared to stop you if I needed you to. I especially liked when you beat me. It seemed like you were really into that.”

“I was. Would you want to do that kind of pain play again?”

“Framed as service, like that? Absolutely.”

“What about the other stuff?”

“The humiliation? Yes. Not all the time, but… frequently. I really liked it, Ange.”

“Good. I was a little worried that I was going too far—“

“I would have stopped you. I promise.” Grantaire, having finished eating, tosses the empty takeout container onto the floor. “I’m sleepy, sir.”

“We can talk about this in the morning, love. Or, well, tomorrow night, I have to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t go to work. Stay here and spoon with me forever.”

“That’s not possible, unfortunately.” A part of Enjolras actually wishes it were, thinks he might be happiest if he could do nothing but hold Grantaire this close forever. “But for now, I’m not going anywhere. Except to recycle the pizza boxes-“

“In the morning,” Grantaire says firmly, locking his arms around Enjolras’ waist. “Cuddles now.”

“Okay,” Enjolras agrees with a smile. “Sleep well, R.”

“Good night.”

They’re quiet for a while, as Grantaire’s breathing evens out. Enjolras thinks he’s asleep, until the quiet is broken by his voice.

“Enjolras?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just- I’m just really glad I’m yours. There’s no one else in the world I’d trust like that, and trust that after you’d still- that I’d feel this good. You can break me down and put me back together and I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” Enjolras says, simply and fondly, and holds Grantaire close until he falls asleep.


End file.
